Welcome Home
by Larien Mithrandir
Summary: Set after the first episode of Season 3. Pickles doesn't know how to feel about Charles's return. Rated M for foul language, slash, and a hint of sex. Reviews are appreciated.


**A/N:** Upon seeing the Season 3 premiere of Metalocalypse, I just HAD to write this!! If you haven't seen "Renovationklok" yet and you don't like spoilers, DO NOT READ THIS!! Otherwise, please read and review. I don't generally write slash, but I decided to throw in some Pickles/Charles for this one…

~Larien~

Nine months. Nine long, horrible months away from his boys. Nine months of uncertainty, of loneliness, of sadness, of heartache, of emptiness. Nine months of lying to his boys. Charles Foster Ofdensen did not look for them to trust him again.

Toki Wartooth had been the first to welcome the manager back. With a childlike innocence, the young Norwegian had nearly tackled Charles. He had not asked questions. He had simply accepted the happy fact that Charles was alive.

Skwisgaar Skwigelf had followed his Scandinavian brother. The Swede had smiled at the mousey man and clapped him on the back. He had not asked where Charles had been, only if Charles was okay. Having been assured that the CFO was perfectly fine, he had let loose with an ecstatic riff on his prized Gibson Explorer.

Nathan Explosion came next. The dark-haired front man had grinned, catching everyone off guard. He asked all sorts of questions about where Charles had been, why the band had been allowed to believe Charles was dead, what Charles had done for nine months. The giddy lyricist had, of course, received no answers.

William Murderface was the fourth band member to respond. He snorted derisively and called Charles a robot, in lieu of Charles's unwillingness to answer any of Nathan's questions. He then declared that the band should celebrate by going to a bar.

Pickles the drummer, however, hung back from the rest of the band. He did not see Charles as his father, and Charles did not see him as his son. The two had a different, deeper relationship. While the rest of the band crowded around their manager, eager to know where he had been and what he had been doing, Pickles did his best to remain invisible. He did not want anyone to see the tears spilling forth from his eyes. Nathan would tell him that crying was not brutal and the other three would probably ridicule him and call him gay.

No matter what might or might not happen, nothing could stop the overflow of emotions spilling forth from Pickles's eyes. He had spent the last nine months trying to drink, smoke, and fuck away the memories. His preferred methods of dealing with life, however, did not work. Memories of Charles's face, contorted in pleasure or racked with pain, had still come to him in the dead of night. Now that he knew Charles was alive, he did not know how to feel. When he had believed Charles to be dead, he had been sure that he could feel sad, angry, and heartbroken. Now that Charles stood before him, he just felt numb.

After the rest of the band dispersed, Charles sought out Pickles. He found the redhead in his old office, absently wandering around. When he caught sight of the drummer's eyes, he knew why Pickles had not joined the rest of the band. Pickles did not want their secret exposed.

"Pickles, I know it's been a long time-"

"A lahng time?! It's been nine fuckin' months! How could you do dat to me, Charlie? You let me believe you were dead fer NINE FUCKIN' MONTHS!" Pickles interrupted.

"It was necessary. I…I had some things to take care of," Charles replied, turning his face from his lover.

Pickles walked over to the manager to stare right into his eyes. "Nine fuckin' months. You could've at least called me ta let me know you was alright! But ya didn' even do dat! All ya had to do was tell me not to tell da other guys and I'd have kept my mouth shut. I'm not jest another one o' yer clients! I'm yer damn lover! Don't I got a right ta know if yer really dead or not?!" he fumed.

Charles sighed heavily. "Pickles, I know you're upset, but please, just listen to me!" he pleaded, looking into the drummer's green eyes. Noting that his lover was acquiescing to his request, he continued, "I am not allowed to disclose any information at this time. All you need to know is that it was necessary to ensure you and the other boys' safety. But believe me, if I could have contacted you in some way, I would have. These nine months have been just as hard on me as they have been on you."

It was Pickles who broke the eye contact this time. "I…I couldn't erase yer memory," he said quietly, his voice more thickly accented than ever. "I tried ev'rythin' I could ta get rid o' you. I drank, I got high, I fucked as many women as I could. No matter what I did, I couldn' get you outta my head!" The Yooper was sobbing heavily now, his pierced brows knitted together. It broke Charles's heart to see him like this.

The brunette wrapped his arms around the redhead's shoulders and pulled him into a comforting embrace, kissing him on the forehead. Pickles rested his head on Charles's shoulder, content to be back in the arms he'd missed for so long. After a few moments, the sobbing lessened and Pickles mumbled something Charles couldn't quite make out. "I'm sorry?" he asked.

"I said nothin' can replace you. Yer my safe haven. Yer the only thin' that's ever made a lick o' sense," Pickles replied, looking up at his lover. With that, he pressed his lips to Charles's and forced the manager back towards his desk. There he pinned the brunette and in the midst of sharing the passionate kiss began to shove the suit coat off of his shoulders. The red tie came next.

As the two broke for air, Charles stuttered, "Wh-what are you d-doing?"

Smirking up at him, Pickles replied, "Welcome home, Charlie. I've missed you." The redhead began fumbling with the buttons on the white shirt. Charles could tell by the trademark smirk and hazy eyes that he was in for one hell of a welcome-home gift…


End file.
